


Fortification and Siege Warfare

by Zoe Rayne (MontanaHarper)



Series: Negotiate [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-05
Updated: 2006-11-05
Packaged: 2017-10-11 20:35:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MontanaHarper/pseuds/Zoe%20Rayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fortification deals with the design and construction of defensive structures; siege warfare involves systematic efforts to attack and capture such structures." —Encarta 98 Desk Encyclopedia</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fortification and Siege Warfare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [filenotch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/filenotch/gifts).



> Follows after my story [Beneath a Waning Moon](http://archiveofourown.org/works/116755), and then [Moonshine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/891352), [Sin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/891378), and [Defend, Disarm, Destroy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/891382) and comes before [N+1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/891409) and [An Older Law](https://archiveofourown.org/works/891485), all by filenotch; won't make sense without the stories that came before and isn't really complete without those that came after.
> 
> Written for filenotch, who bought my writing services at auction, making me his Charity Ho for the duration. I hope it meets your expectations, John.
> 
> Information on siege warfare quoted or paraphrased from [Siege Warfare: The Art of Offence and Defence](http://www.angelfire.com/wy/svenskildbiter/siege.html) by Stephen Francis Wyley. Many, many thanks to everyone who chatted with me in AIM about this, but especially to packmentality and libitina. And I can't even begin to thank Casspeach, who spent ungodly amounts of time giving me support and ideas and, most importantly, a sounding-board. You rock my world, Cass.

  
**Escalade – To scale or surmount the walls of a fortification.**   
_Escalade is both the most direct and the most dangerous of the tactics used in siege warfare. Even if the attacking force manages to make ground on the wall top, the defenders can easily isolate the wall walk by retreating to towers placed along the curtain wall, and from there continue their defense._   


Carson had released John from the infirmary two days, ago, and since then Rodney hadn't seen him. Not that he'd been looking that hard; he'd been too busy dealing with the aftermath of the Takkan fiasco. Still, he was surprised when the door opened to his knock, revealing John sitting in bed, _War and Peace_ open in his lap. When he looked up, an instant of something that might have been panic crossed his face before his expression went blank, closed-off, and Rodney wasn't sure which one was worse. It was almost enough to make him turn around and walk away. Almost.

Instead, he stepped inside and let the door slide shut behind him. _I've never,_ John had said. Not _I didn't like it_ or _I don't want you_. As reasons went, Rodney thought it was an extraordinarily stupid one, but it was better than the alternatives; after all, a lack of experience could be remedied.

He nodded at the book, which had been John's constant companion in the infirmary. "Making progress?" he asked, like they hung out in John's room and talked casually about impenetrable Russian novels every day.

"I've got a schedule," John answered. The _and you're disrupting it_ was unspoken but no less clear for that.

The polite thing to do would've been to take the hint and leave, but Rodney didn't care much for social niceties. They were usually just excuses for people to tiptoe around things instead of facing them head on. Rodney was not a fan of tiptoeing. He stepped closer to the bed, reaching down to take the book from John's unresisting fingers and setting it face down on the nightstand. As Rodney's hand moved back toward John's shoulder, John closed his eyes and his body tensed under Rodney's touch.

"This isn't your room." John said it like it was some kind of talisman, like the words would make Rodney turn and leave, and suddenly the anger and frustration that Rodney thought he'd mastered—or had at least pushed down to deal with later—was hot under the surface of his skin.

"Obviously not, since that's the last place you'd ever go," he snapped. It wasn't until John's eyes opened wide that he realized what the protest had actually meant. He'd forgotten the exact words he'd spoken in the Takkan exsanguination chamber, but now they came rushing back: _If we get out of here, you are coming to my room, and you are going to learn a few things._

He considered for a second before deciding that he was fulfilling the spirit of the promise if not the letter, and that if John wanted him to leave he'd have to actually say the words, because Rodney was done playing by John's fucked-up rules. He sat down on the edge of the bed, flattening his palm against John's stomach, fingers splayed wide, feeling the warmth radiating up through the thin cotton. When John made no move to stop him, Rodney slowly rucked the tee-shirt up, revealing the large white square of gauze bandaging the Nall-inflicted wound. His own injury was an occasional barely noticed twinge, but he'd seen John's side when they got back to Atlantis and so had been surprised when Carson released him so quickly.

Trailing his fingertips lightly over the dressing, he asked, "Does it hurt much?"

John didn't answer, his gaze locked on Rodney's hand as it moved back across his stomach and to the edge of his low-slung pants. Rodney slid his fingers along the fly, undoing the buttons one by one to reveal John's half-hard dick poking through the opening in his boxers. Rodney curled one hand around it, stroking lightly and feeling it lengthen against his palm, hot and heavy and real.

Real in a way it hadn't been before, in a way he suddenly realized he'd never actually expected it to be.

At first he'd been so overwhelmed by the feel of John's touch, by the simple _fact_ of the touch that he hadn't thought about the lack of reciprocity, nor about the distance that John was keeping between them despite the increasing intimacy of their actions. Once past the first shocked pleasure at the arrangement, though, it was almost a given that the situation would continue on as it had started; Rodney didn't have any illusions about the American military's attitude on homosexuality, so he had never questioned John's boundaries, had never pushed more than he could help—for the sake of John's career, if not his life. And he'd never questioned any of it until the night he'd turned around and seen an all-too-familiar expression on John's face, one that he associated with ugly adolescent memories he'd thought long buried.

Surprisingly, he was angrier now that he was in possession of more accurate data. If John had simply been an asshole...well, Rodney had dealt with plenty of those in his lifetime; he would have been disappointed, because he'd honestly thought better of John, but he would have moved on. The knowledge that John wanted this, wanted _him,_ but had been denying them both for some stupid reason that only made sense in his testosterone-addled brain? That was seriously maddening.

He tightened his grip, working John's dick with an almost vicious twist at the end of the upstroke, something experience had taught him would either be enthusiastically appreciated or unendurable, depending on how the individual guy was wired. John let his head fall back against the wall, eyes closed and breathing ragged, and Rodney decided to assume the former. As he looked back down from John's face, his gaze was caught by the stark white of the bandage and his rhythm faltered, nearly stopped. Reaching out, he touched the gauze square again, not pressing down but simply letting his palm rest against it and feeling the rise and fall of John's chest under his hand, trying not to think about how close John had come to dying.

The soft _plink_ of dripping liquid still nauseated him.

Pushing the thought out of his mind and picking up the pace again, he focused on John's responses, categorizing every little twitch and shudder. John's hands clenched, like he wanted to hang on or maybe throw a punch, Rodney wasn't sure which; neither would surprise him at this point. He felt John tense, heard his breath catch, and then his dick pulsed in Rodney's hand as he came and Rodney was frozen in place by the enormity of the moment. He'd never done this with John before, never been directly responsible for making him come.

When he looked up, he found himself facing the blank non-expression he'd seen John use on crazy natives and disdainful superior officers; this was the first time it had been aimed his direction, though.

"Are you through?" John said, his tone impassive, and Rodney jerked his hands back, more shocked than if John had actually hauled off and hit him. John broke eye contact, focusing his attention on mopping up the mess on his stomach with a handkerchief he'd fished out of his pocket, and it was obvious to Rodney that he was being dismissed.

When Rodney looked back from the doorway, John had picked up his book and settled in to read as if nothing had happened.

  
**Breach – To create a gap in the wall of a fortification.**   
_A battering ram provides a brute-force solution to creating a breach in the walls of a fortification, while a "mouse" or "bore" used to pick out the mortar between stones is a more subtle form of attack. Both leave the attacking force vulnerable to reprisal._   


When Rodney walked into the mess, the first thing he noticed was that John, Teyla, and Ronon were just sitting down at a table in the far corner. Well, actually, the _first_ thing he noticed was that the whole place smelled like fresh-baked pumpkin-walnut muffins, which were his favorite, but then he caught sight of the rest of his team and his stomach tied itself in knots, and suddenly the thought of food was much less appealing.

He went through the line quickly, foregoing his usual protein-heavy breakfast in favor of even more coffee than usual and three of the large muffins. Comfort food, in the face of dealing with John after last night. Rodney's tray clattered to the table and John's gaze snapped up, a brief instant of something unreadable in his expression, and then he was back to normal, finishing his sentence to Ronon and Teyla's nods.

"Good morning," Rodney said, working to make it sound casual.

Teyla smiled warmly at him. "Good morning, Doctor McKay," she said.

"You going to eat that?" Ronon reached for one of the muffins without waiting for an answer and Rodney smacked the back of his hand. Ronon wasn't deterred—not that Rodney had actually expected him to be—and so Rodney dug in before the rest of his breakfast was similarly absconded with.

"Colonel Sheppard was just telling us of the upcoming meeting for senior staff," Teyla said, taking a drink of her tea.

Rodney paused, food halfway to his mouth. "Damn it," he said with feeling. "I forgot about that. I suppose Radek will have to keep the trained monkeys from blowing up the lab while I'm gone." As he keyed his radio, Ronon reached for his tray again but he pulled it out of the way. Once he'd finished making arrangements with Radek, he gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. "There's a line over there. If you go stand in it, the nice people behind the steam table will give you food."

"It's more fun to take yours," Ronon said around a mouthful of stolen muffin.

Rodney looked at his watch and sighed. Two minutes until the meeting. He grabbed the rest of the muffin he'd been eating, and the lone coffee mug that still had something in it, then shoved the tray in Ronon's direction. "Have a ball," he said, nodding at the last remaining muffin. "We're going to be late. Coming, Colonel?"

When John finally looked up, finally met Rodney's gaze, his expression was carefully neutral. "I'll be there in a minute, McKay. I have something to take care of. Let Elizabeth know I'm running late?"

Nodding, Rodney headed for the conference room. He dumped his half-eaten muffin in the trash on the way out, the smell of it suddenly turning his stomach. It would almost have been better if John had been visibly angry or disgusted or even contemptuous. Anything other than that blank politeness that left Rodney feeling simultaneously irritated and slighted, not to mention determined not to let the situation alter his own typical behavior in the least.

Elizabeth took John's message in stride and they started the meeting with Rodney's portion of the agenda. John slid into his seat a few minutes later and Rodney didn't miss a beat, just interjected a quick, "Glad you could find the time to join us," in between getting Elizabeth's okay on his departmental requisition form and suggesting a program to train the gateroom personnel in what he was calling Ancient Hotwiring 101. His own business taken care of, he sat back and fiddled with his pen, only half listening as Elizabeth and John discussed things that really didn't affect him or his staff.

He stood when they did, flashing a quick smile at Elizabeth and then saying, "Colonel, if you have some free time this week while you're on light duty, I was hoping to run some in-depth diagnostics on the chair."

There was an almost-imperceptible pause before John said, "Sure. I'll come by your lab once I tame the stack of paperwork on my desk."

"Good." Rodney stood, heading for the doorway and only glancing back at John briefly. "I have another project that needs my attention, as well, so if I'm not around you can talk to Radek. He's got all the data on the protocols that need checked." John's expression didn't change much, but Rodney was pretty sure he was relieved.

As it turned out, Rodney was in the bowels of the city working on the waste recycling protocols when John showed up looking for him. A brief radio conversation with Radek to ensure they were on the same page, and Rodney went back to making sure the city didn't sink under the weight of the garbage generated by the expedition. On the rare occasions when he wasn't elbow-deep in Ancient circuitry and fully focused on the task at hand, he absolutely did not think about the fact that he'd much rather be up in the chair room, walking John through various tests.

Between his distractibility and the fact that half his staff was out with the Athosian equivalent of the flu, leaving him without anyone to assist in the repairs, it was an exhausting, drawn-out day that ended with Rodney grabbing a sandwich from the mess and taking it back to eat in his room because he was too tired and edgy to deal with people. After dinner, he took a very long, very hot shower, pulled on a tee-shirt and boxers, and went to stand in the doorway to the little not-really-a-balcony off his room and watch the sun set over the ocean. The breeze was comfortably cool on his bare skin and the sound of the water lapping against the pylons below his balcony was soothing.

He was almost relaxed when arms wrapped unexpectedly around him from behind and he surprised himself by reacting automatically with a defensive move Teyla had taught him. He managed to halt the motion before it really began, ending up simply tensing against John, though he wondered if maybe he shouldn't have just let John take an elbow to the solar plexus. It would serve him right for sneaking up on Rodney in Rodney's own room, especially after the last few weeks.

Rodney went to turn around, to tell John in no uncertain terms where he could go if he thought Rodney was going to keep playing John's game of "this far and no more," but John's arms tightened.

Warm fingers came up to press lightly at Rodney's lips, to stop him from speaking, and at the same time there was the soft, damp brush of a mouth against his neck and John whispered, "I'm sorry," against his skin.

Rodney closed his eyes, suddenly remembering quiet words that had, at the time, left him just short of furious: 'I wouldn't know what to do with _more_ of you.'

Now, though, the sentiment made his chest ache, and much as he wanted to hang onto the anger, he was mostly frustrated and confused. In hindsight, by spending the day determined to act like nothing had happened, he'd given John the perfect repercussion-free out; he didn't understand why John hadn't taken it, didn't understand why John was _here_ instead of out reasserting his heterosexuality with the first available woman.

Tense, he waited for John to make the next move, but instead John just held him, warm breath gusting past Rodney's ear and cheek, and Rodney slowly relaxed against him. They stood together in silence until long after the sun had set and the smallest of the moons was beginning to rise. When John finally let go, Rodney kept staring out over the ocean until he heard the door open. This was the make-or-break point. Either the rules would change or their relationship would return to strictly professional; Rodney couldn't— _wouldn't_ —deal with being in this maybe/maybe-not limbo anymore.

He turned to find John standing in the doorway, looking back at him, expression unreadable but definitely not blank. "John?"

John licked his lips and said, hesitantly, "I'll stop by tomorrow after dinner, if that's okay."

"I, um. Yes, I'd like that." Rodney nodded. The smile he got in return was tentative but genuine, and then John stepped out into the corridor and the door slid closed. Rodney leaned back against the railing. Maybe they had a chance, after all.

~ * ~ * ~

The next day was pretty much a wash; Rodney was distracted enough that he ended up leaving his current project in Radek's reasonably capable hands and grabbing an early dinner in the mess hall before going back to his room and pacing. Rodney suspected John would react better if they stuck more or less to familiar territory, at least to start with, but he himself wasn't willing to simply maintain the status quo.

The goal, then, would be to ease John into doing more, preferably via the path of least resistance. The trick was going to be figuring out what that path was, and to do that he needed to figure out what John's issues were and how to circumnavigate them. Since simply asking had worked so well on Takkan (not), he'd have to work it out for himself based on observation and the formulation and testing of various hypotheses. So, what had he personally observed during encounters with John?

He sat down at his laptop and began to make a list:  
1\. Always ensured my pleasure before his own (consideration? control?)  
2\. Fairly strict rules: no looking, no turning around, minimal talking (control? fear?)  
3\. Few variations in the sexual script (control? fear? inexperience?)  
4\. "I've never" (inexperience? fear?)  
5\. Unresponsive/cold when I initiated the action (control? fear?)  
6\. Came to my room without prompting, apologized, and broke from the script by not attempting to initiate sexual activity, though other rules were still enforced

It was that last one that he had the most trouble analyzing. Obviously, it was a potential indication of control issues on John's part, but Rodney didn't know what else it might mean. Setting it aside for the moment, he looked at the rest of the list; control issues and fear seemed to rank highest when it came to John's possible motivations. Both hypotheses would be easy enough to test. He had no doubts about his ability to push John into running away if fear was the problem, but that was kind of counterproductive. On the other hand, if he could set up the situation so John felt in control, felt like anything they did was his choice, then maybe they could move forward.

He closed down his laptop and was still thinking about the possibilities as he started to prepare for a shower. There was so much they hadn't done, and he really had no way of knowing what John would consider too much. He toed off his unlaced boots, kicking them into the corner, and then emptied his pockets onto the desk, pausing for a minute to study the Ancient crystal that he'd apparently been carrying around all day.

In the bathroom, Rodney stripped his shirt and pants off and dropped them into the laundry chute, his socks and boxers quickly following. He was both more and less stressed than he'd been the previous day; more because today he _knew_ John was coming, but less because his workday had consisted of mundane maintenance tasks that wouldn't have taxed the cognitive abilities of a rhesus monkey, let alone those of the most brilliant man in two galaxies.

He let the water pound hot on his shoulders for a while as he leaned, elbows braced and head down, against the smooth wall. This whole thing was going to take patience and finesse, and Rodney was under no illusions about the degree to which he possessed either of those qualities. Well, it was probably only fair that he undergo some personal growth, considering he was expecting John to do the same; that didn't mean he had to like it, though.

A reasonable goal for the evening, then, would be just to get John to face him through whatever they did. Nudity—full or partial, he wasn't picky—would be a bonus. He showered quickly, shaving by touch and brushing his teeth before turning the water off and stepping out of the stall. Probably best to start them out in familiar territory; it was almost sunset. Shoving the wet towel into the laundry chute, he pulled on a tee-shirt ( _There are 10 types of people in the world: Those who understand binary and those who don't._ ) and boxers.

Not nearly as exhausted or lost in his thoughts as yesterday, this time he heard the door slide open behind him as he stood at the balcony rail. He debated for a second before deciding not to turn just yet. There was a rustle of fabric behind him, and then John's bare arms slid around his waist.

"Hi," John said quietly.

Rodney shifted and John's arms loosened a little, just enough to let him turn around without letting him go, and that change in routine alone was surprising. Rodney leaned his forehead against John's. "Hi."

After a few seconds, he pulled back a little and John let go entirely, taking a step backward into the room, and Rodney used the opportunity to look him over. John stood, loose-limbed and casual, still wearing his uniform pants and black tee-shirt, and his jacket had been tossed carelessly over Rodney's desk chair; if Rodney didn't know better, he would've thought John was relaxed. Rodney stepped back into John's space, settling his hands on John's hips, thumbs rubbing gently just above the waistband of John's BDUs.

"Do you, uh. Do you want to make yourself comfortable?" Rodney asked, suddenly at a loss for how to proceed. The changes in John's behavior had left him off-balance, and he'd never been good at thinking on his feet when it came to interpersonal situations.

John tensed under Rodney's hands, but his expression was amused. "By 'comfortable' you mean 'naked'?"

"By 'make yourself', I mean 'let me help you get.'" He tugged John's shirt up out of his BDUs and slid his fingertips under the hem, flattening his palms against John's abdomen and brushing against the bandage with the edge of his hand. "What do you want?" he asked, and John's breath hitched.

"I—" John began then stopped, closed his eyes. "Your mouth." The words were quiet, almost whispered, and they left twin aches in Rodney's chest and his dick.

Rodney dropped to his knees and started working the buttons of John's BDUs, tugging them—and John's non-regulation boxers—down to mid-thigh once he had them undone. John's dick was already half-hard, and Rodney's wasn't far behind. He looked up to find John watching him intently, his expression unreadable. Very deliberately, Rodney leaned forward and took John's dick into his mouth, closing his eyes and letting himself savor the salty, musky taste of John's skin, and the solid, warm weight of it against his tongue. As he worked the head and shaft of John's dick with his mouth, Rodney let himself touch, running his hands over John's thighs and back and the curve of his ass.

It didn't take long for him to bring John to the edge; in his peripheral vision he watched John's hands move tentatively toward him then drop back to John's side, fists clenched with an almost palpable tension as John seemed to struggle to keep himself under control. When John finally let go, Rodney steadied him with hands on his hips, swallowing then pulling away slowly and standing up to face him. Ignoring the awkward feeling of standing there with his dick poking out of his boxers, Rodney reached to straighten out John's clothes, but John stopped him, one hand on his wrist and the other on his dick.

Rodney let himself be reeled in, resting his forehead on John's shoulder and his hands on John's hips. The hand around his dick moved slowly, enough to keep him on edge but not enough to bring him any closer to coming, and he was forcibly reminded that John had far greater knowledge of his responses than he had of John's, courtesy of two months of near-daily one-sided handjobs. He couldn't bring himself to feel resentful at the moment, though; maybe it was just the endorphins, but he kind of felt that today had been a step forward.

And John's expression—eyes dark under half-lowered lids, lips parted—as Rodney licked his own come off John's fingers only supported Rodney's conclusion.

~ * ~ * ~

The next night followed the same pattern, and the night after that, too. Each time, John seemed to have less difficulty asking for what he wanted, and on the fourth night his hands didn't clench into fists, but instead slid into Rodney's hair, down his cheek, curved around the back of his neck, each movement seemingly easier, more relaxed than the one before it. Rodney hummed, John's touch going straight to his own impatient dick, and John's fingers tightened as he came.

~ * ~ * ~

Rodney was lying naked on his bed when John showed up on the fifth night. He watched John's expression carefully, catching the flicker of unease that was quickly replaced with what he recognized as a practiced casual look.

"I'm going to need my knees the next time I'm running away from angry natives or hungry Wraith or poisonous fauna," Rodney said. "I thought maybe we could try it this way."

"Sure." John sat on the edge of the bed and started unlacing his boots, his back stiff with tension.

Rodney scooted over behind him, sliding his hands up the back of John's shirt until he was pushing it off over John's head, wrapping his hands over John's shoulders and digging his thumbs into the knots that were currently passing for John's trapezius. He felt the play of muscles under his hands and heard the thud of boots dropping to the floor, but John remained where he was, shoulders slumped and chin to chest as Rodney worked the kinks out of his back and neck. When Rodney had done all he could without several hours and a bottle of almond oil, he shifted until he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

John slowly collapsed back, eyes closed. "Paperwork sucks."

"I thought that's why you had Major Lorne: to do the parts of your job that suck," Rodney said, moving to rub John's temples and massage his scalp. "This okay?"

Groaning in what Rodney assumed was some flavor of pleasure, John said, "Lorne does the paperwork when I'm spending most of my time in the field. When he has to take up my off-world slack, I really can't make him do the shit work, too. Not when I'm healthy enough to shuffle papers myself." He paused for a second. "And yeah, that's okay. You can do it forever, if you want."

Rodney slowed his movements, debating the wisdom of blurring the boundaries between their sexual relationship and their friendship even further by teasing. "Forever, huh? And here I'd been thinking maybe you'd like a blowjob, but if you'd rather I give you a scalp massage instead...."

After an almost imperceptible hesitation, John said, "Blowjob's good too," and the corner of his mouth twitched up.

Turned out, John was right: the blowjob was very good—John apparently agreed, if the sounds he made were any indication—and so was the very thorough handjob John gave Rodney in return.

~ * ~ * ~

By the end of the next week, John was stripping out of his own clothes almost as soon as he was through the door, and the day the stark white of the bandages disappeared, revealing irregular patches of smooth pink skin on John's side and thigh was the same day John stretched out above Rodney on the bed, lining their dicks up and thrusting down against him until the almost-perfect friction nearly drove Rodney crazy. He slid his hands down John's back, cupping the curve of John's ass and John's movements stuttered, then resumed their previous rhythm.

Rodney held on, cursing the American military and their institutionalized homophobia with every fiber of his being until John leaned down and buried his face in Rodney's neck, sank his teeth into the sensitive spot at the join of shoulder and neck, and then Rodney came with multi-colored sparks flashing behind his eyelids and John groaning, "oh, God, yeah," into his ear. Another few seconds, another flex of the firm muscles under Rodney's hands, and John was shuddering against him, breath ragged and body taut as the proverbial bowstring.

When John rolled off him to lie panting on the narrow bunk, Rodney went to clean up in the bathroom, bringing a wet washcloth back to take care of the mess on John's stomach. He lingered over the fresh scar on John's side, tracing it lightly with his fingertips before pressing the palm of his hand over it like his touch could somehow turn back time, protect John from the Nall. It was a ridiculous thought and the sentiment behind it was one he was well aware would send John running faster than anything, so he eased his hand away like it meant nothing and finished with the washcloth.

After a few seconds, Rodney broke the silence. "If you've got time tomorrow, I'd like to finish up those chair diagnostics." He didn't quite hold his breath as he waited for John's answer.

"Yeah, sure." John yawned and stretched, then pushed himself to a sitting position and reached for his clothes. "Anything's better than paperwork, even sitting around all day and thinking on command. Meet me at 0800 in the mess for breakfast, and we can get started first thing?"

Rodney nodded. "Yes, breakfast, good idea," he said, and handed John's boxers over.

John paused in the doorway on his way out, looking back over his shoulder. "See you in the morning."

~ * ~ * ~

Running the chair diagnostics took them most of the day and the process itself was painfully boring, even if the results were both useful and interesting. Rodney had to admit, though—even if only to himself—that he enjoyed spending the time with John, making idle conversation while the computer processed test results and set up the next protocol.

The last test was running when John said, "Are we almost done?" and his tone was casual enough that Rodney almost missed the way his fingers were tapping a nervous rhythm on the arm of the chair.

"About two more minutes," Rodney said, watching John out of the corner of his eye. "Big plans tonight?" He knew he shouldn't have said it, but he couldn't help himself; his mouth was his own worst enemy.

John smiled a tight smile. "Yeah, kind of. Poker game with Lorne and Cadman and a couple of the new lieutenants who're being rotated in."

"Ah." Rodney resolutely clamped his mouth shut against the other things he wanted to say. He was pretty sure that the poker game was an excuse; the sick feeling in his gut told him that John's plans had more to do with the cute brunette lieutenant on the _Daedalus_ 's crew than with five-card stud. Saving the data they'd collected, he said, "There, we're done. Enjoy your evening, Colonel."

Once John was gone, Rodney gathered up his laptop and the various equipment he'd hauled to the chair room and headed for his lab, determinedly losing himself in work for the rest of the evening until long past the time John usually showed up in his room. When Rodney stumbled exhausted through his own door at just after two in the morning, he was surprised to find the lights already on and John sitting cross-legged on the bed with a game of solitaire laid out in front of him. He looked up and Rodney's stomach knotted at the blank, closed-off expression.

"Late night?" John's tone was mild, but Rodney suspected that the emotion underneath was anything but.

He put his laptop down on his desk. "Yeah," he agreed, trying to sound just as casual as John did. "I thought you were going to be busy tonight, so...."

"So...?" John prompted, with a quick glance in Rodney's direction.

Rodney shrugged, sitting in his desk chair to untie his boot laces. "So I stuck around the lab, tried to get some work done once everyone else had gone so that my attention wasn't constantly being distracted by the troop of monkeys who are ostensibly the best and brightest scientists Earth has to offer, which, by the way, is a truly sad indictment of the educational system not just in your country but world-wide—"

"Rodney." John said softly, the same way he said it when they were in bed, and suddenly Rodney was at a loss for words. The silence stretched on for far too long before John broke it, saying, "Check your desk drawer."

Obediently, Rodney pulled out the drawer and found himself facing a small mountain of candy: chocolate bars, bags of cinnamon bears, caramels. Confused, he looked over at John, who grinned smugly at him. "That's about half of what I won at the game."

Shaking his head, Rodney said, "Remind me never to play poker with you." He pushed the drawer closed and stood, pulling his shirt off over his head. By the time he was down to just boxers, John had gathered up the cards and put them aside, and was leaning back on his elbows and watching.

Rodney crawled up the bed to him, sliding his hands under John's tee-shirt and rucking it up as he went, and then kissing and licking and biting a path from John's stomach to first one nipple and then the other. He didn't bother to strip John any further, just unbuttoned the front of his BDUs and shoved his boxers down before swallowing John's dick as far as he could, gratified and incredibly turned on by the sounds John made and the way his body tensed at Rodney's ministrations. He focused everything he had on taking John apart, bit by bit, with mouth and hands and the press of their bodies together.

Afterward, as John lay beside him, clothes disheveled and face flushed in a way that made him look thoroughly debauched, Rodney realized that there really was no way he could step back from this now. He'd passed the point of no return—had possibly done so even before the mission to Takkan, if he were being totally honest with himself—and that was a pretty terrifying epiphany.

"So what'd I do to deserve that?" John asked, looking over at him.

Rodney grinned. "You brought me chocolate." And it was even kind of true.

~ * ~ * ~

Rodney didn't even bother putting on a tee-shirt and boxers after his shower anymore, and he'd started to take for granted that John would be naked within a minute of arriving in his room, so when John sat down, still fully dressed, in the desk chair, it set off alarm bells in Rodney's brain.

"I was thinking," John said and, his heart pounding, Rodney bit back his instinctive sarcastic response, trying instead to look open and encouraging. And failing, apparently, if John's expression was any indication. "Never mind."

"No," Rodney said, "what? You were thinking...?"

John's face flushed, and he said, "I'd like to watch you jerk off."

Rodney couldn't help the moan, because John saying things like that was beyond hot. He closed his eyes for a second, his dick hardening faster than it had since he was a teenager. "Yeah," he said. "I think I can do that. Do I get to watch you, too?" John's response was a sharp nod of his head while his eyes cut away from Rodney's face, but Rodney was pretty sure it was the best he was going to get.

Deliberately, Rodney pushed the blankets off, wrapped his hand loosely around his dick and started stroking with a slow, relaxed rhythm. For a second it looked like being watched might be a deal-breaker—he'd never been particularly exhibitionistic—but then John shifted in the chair, adjusting himself in his pants without taking his eyes off Rodney, and suddenly it was the easiest thing ever to go with it, to _let_ go.

Aside from that one brief touch, John kept his hands away from the bulge in his pants, but Rodney could see the flex of his fingers where they tightened around the arms of the chair. Rodney really didn't get the point of that kind of self-denial; he was a firm believer in hedonism as a valid lifestyle choice, and he made a point of demonstrating it through his actions, savoring the tingling scrape of his nails across his stomach, the electric shock of a nipple pinched and rolled between fingertips. His whole body was more responsive than usual, the half-stifled sounds of John's arousal washing over him and leaving him sensitized, on the verge of climax with hardly any effort.

When Rodney came, John moaned as loud as he did.

Taking his turn in the chair, Rodney watched as John slowly stripped—not quite making a show of it, but definitely not undressing as quickly and efficiently as Rodney knew he could. John stretched out on the bed, graceful and lean and seductive, his hands already moving, palms gliding down over sharp hipbones and back up and across his chest. John's eyes closed and it was like his entire body relaxed against the pillows, tension bleeding off him with every exhalation.

Rodney wasn't quite holding his breath, but he was consciously holding back, keeping the needy sounds trapped behind firmly closed lips. It was easier than it might have been if he hadn't gone first, hadn't relieved the buzz of arousal that seemed to skate under his skin all the time now. He held himself still and let his gaze travel over John's body from head to toe, taking in the lazy sprawl of John's limbs and the way his half-hard dick twitched as his hands grazed lightly across his chest and stomach.

One knee bent, almost showcasing himself for Rodney, John finally reached for his dick with his left hand, taking it in a loose grip that Rodney knew from experience was just this side of too light, teasing and arousing and an indication that John planned to take his time. Rodney settled back in the chair, relaxing muscles he hadn't realized were tense.

The slow touches gave way to a firmer, faster stroke sooner than Rodney had expected, and he wasn't sure if that was a sign of how turned on John was by the situation or if John just liked to draw it out more when he was jerking Rodney off. John's hips worked in counterpoint to his hand, short thrusts that forced the head of his dick, hard and red and slick with precome, up through his tightened fist. Rodney's hands clenched on the chair arms, a reminder to himself to stay where he was, to observe but not interact.

In fact, Rodney was so involved in observing the hand on John's dick that he was surprised when the other hand—previously moving restlessly from throat to chest to stomach and back again—suddenly slipped down past John's balls. One spit-slick finger traced circles around John's hole before pushing in, sinking knuckle-deep and dragging a gasping sigh from John while Rodney couldn't seem to breathe at all. John's hips stilled, but the hand on his dick kept up an even rhythm, matching the smooth in-and-out glide of the fingers—now two of them, Rodney realized with a groan he couldn't restrain—that John was fucking himself with.

As it turned out, it wasn't what John was doing with his fingers, or even the way his other hand worked the shaft of his dick that pushed Rodney past the ability to stoically endure. No, it was the expression on John's face as he came, the almost-shocked bliss that really did Rodney in, leaving him furiously stroking his own renewed erection until John blinked lazily from the bed and said, "You need any help with that?"

Which was all the encouragement Rodney needed to push up and out of the chair, covering John's body with his own, his dick sliding through the warm slick that remained from John's orgasm. It only took a few thrusts for that sensation, coupled with the feel of John's hands and the sound of his voice, low and rough and urging Rodney on, and then Rodney was making his own contribution to the sticky mess between them.

Rodney rolled to the side, his fingers and toes still tingling, and said, "Note to self: when John says, 'I was thinking,' go with his plan, no questions asked." Beside him, John let out a surprised huff of laugher and Rodney allowed himself to smile.

~ * ~ * ~

It was getting harder and harder for John to be on restricted duty; Rodney could feel it in every touch, in every caress, John's need to be _out there_ and _doing something_ , and it was incredibly frustrating to be unable to do anything to help.

It was getting harder for all of them, actually, but at least Ronon and Teyla had been going off-world occasionally with other teams, and Rodney had interesting work in his lab. He couldn't imagine how stir-crazy John must feel. Or maybe he could, considering he saw the bruises every night, colorful against the pale skin of John's chest and shoulders and back, the result of as much sparring with Teyla and Ronon as Carson would allow. And Rodney knew for a fact that they were taking it easy on John, so no matter how desperately he wanted to get back into the regular off-world rotation he obviously wasn't ready yet.

So when John came to him, pushed him down on the bed and pinned his hands down, Rodney held as still has he could and pressed his face against John's sweaty neck, letting John take the lead, take whatever he needed.

~ * ~ * ~

It was supposed to be a simple mission, a quick and easy exchange of services—Rodney's—for grain seed. Of course, nothing in Pegasus was quick and easy, and Rodney should have remembered that before he agreed to go repair the Ancient agricultural equipment.

The culling seemed coincidental, even to someone with Rodney's paranoid streak, but that didn't change the level of fear he'd felt when he was cornered by two Wraith drones and his P90 had jammed. His Beretta hadn't done any good at all, and if not for Major Lorne's amazing timing, Rodney would've been a midnight snack for some Hive Queen. Even with the miraculous rescue, he felt like Muhammad Ali's practice bag and he'd retreated to the comfort of his own room as soon as Carson had released him from the infirmary.

A long, hot shower with the spray turned up to maximum pressure _almost_ got rid of the aches, but eventually Rodney had to admit that maybe he was going to have to live with a little pain for a couple of days. Exhausted, he collapsed into bed as soon as he'd toweled off, and was asleep almost the moment his head hit the pillow.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but he was suddenly wide awake, alert in a way that he usually wasn't without a cup or three of strong coffee. Heart pounding, he pushed himself up on his elbows and realized John was kneeling on the bed, straddling his thighs and wearing nothing but an expression that Rodney knew well, though this was the first time it had been aimed at him.

"John—" he started, but John growled, "Shut up," and Rodney did, letting John push him back against the bed, not resisting when John pinned his wrists at his sides.

John buried his face in Rodney's neck, alternating kisses and rough nips that made Rodney shiver and arch up under him, trying to find some friction to ease the aching of his dick. John wasn't letting him, though, shifting his body down Rodney's and sucking one of Rodney's nipples, his mouth skating the fine line between the perfect pressure and too hard, and Rodney's entire body was aching with need now. He was trying to stay quiet, trying to at least pretend he had some cool left, but the words seemed to be spilling past his lips without permission, a desperate litany of _please_ and _more_ and _John_.

And John's mouth kept moving down, his touches wilder than they'd ever been before, and he was whispering his own words into Rodney's skin— _Jesus, don't ever_ and _could have died_ and _got your back_ —until Rodney wondered if you could actually die from sexual frustration.

When John finally reached the tender skin over Rodney's hipbone, the scratch of his beard stubble across the sensitive head of Rodney's dick was almost more than Rodney could stand and he pushed his hips up off the bed. "Oh, God," he begged, "John, please. Anything, something, just...I need—" John first kissed and then licked along Rodney's shaft and the rest of his sentence turned into an indistinct low moan because _holy shit_ , John's mouth was on his dick.

John's fingers tightened around Rodney's wrists and he licked again, then shifted to suck the head of Rodney's dick into his mouth, and Rodney saw stars. Eventually he was probably going to be embarrassed at the sounds he was making, but right now all he could think of was the wet heat of John's mouth and the fact that he was seconds away from coming. It took more willpower than Rodney would've credited himself with, but he pulled his hips back, his dick slipping free from John's mouth. He managed to catch his breath enough to say John's name, and something in his tone must've gotten through because John froze where he was, his entire body bowstring taut, watching as Rodney started to come, and then he scrambled backward off the bed.

Eyes wide, John backed away, grabbing his clothes and tugging them on as he moved until he was dressed except for the boots in his hand. The door opened behind him and he disappeared into the corridor without looking back.

_Well, fuck._

  
**Blockade – To cut off supply of provisions and re-enforcements to a fortification.**   
_It is often wisest for the evenly matched attacking force to withdraw to a distance, leaving the defenders isolated within their fortification until they succumb to starvation, thirst, or boredom._   


The next day Rodney gave John some space. He grabbed a tray in the mess at breakfast and took it back to his lab; their paths didn't cross for the rest of the day. John didn't show up in Rodney's room that evening, either. It was the first time that had happened in weeks, so Rodney thought it was a pretty clear indication that John considered things over.

No matter how Rodney felt or how he wanted to react, he was determined to take it with cool stoicism. He had a vivid memory of Tommy Jenkins, his first college roommate, sobbing into the phone after being dumped by the Venezuelan political science major he'd been dating for a mere two weeks. Tommy had proclaimed his undying love, promising to do whatever Maria wanted if only she'd take him back, tears and snot running down his face the whole time. Rodney had only been fourteen, but even at that age he recognized how pathetic the gesture was and he'd felt the same contempt that Maria had expressed loudly and bilingually.

Rodney was not going to be Tommy Jenkins.

~ * ~ * ~

Taking his usual scoop of reconstituted powdered eggs, two scoops of hash browns, and two full helpings of bacon, Rodney paused for a second in front of the muffins before taking three of those as well. He was more nauseated than hungry, but it was the principle of the thing. Besides, Ronon was sitting at the table with John and Teyla, and Rodney figured it was a good idea to have some diversionary food on his plate.

John's reaction as Rodney dropped his tray to the table was an almost imperceptible moment of tension, and then he said, "Morning, Rodney."

"Good morning, Colonel. Teyla. Ronon." Rodney greeted them, ignoring when Ronon reached over and took one of the decoy muffins. "What's on the agenda for today?"

When John shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth—the most blatant avoidance tactic ever, and one Rodney himself hadn't used since he was in grade four—Teyla answered, "The colonel is expected in the infirmary this morning; Doctor Beckett wishes to evaluate his progress. We were discussing the possibility of some light defensive training afterward, if the doctor deems him well enough."

"McKay should come, too." Ronon obviously had no problems with talking with his mouth full.

Rodney shook his head. "I have about a million things to do in the lab," he said, and it was entirely true: there never seemed to be enough hours in the day to get everything done. Then he looked up and caught the relief on John's face and changed his mind. He wasn't going to just disappear because John had decided they were over, and John might as well start getting used to that fact now. "On second thought, I probably should make time for some hand-to-hand training."

Ronon snagged another muffin and several strips of bacon. "Yeah," he agreed. "We can't protect you all the time. Better to know how to protect yourself."

Rodney looked at him sharply, but he was wearing the same expression he always did and there was no hint that he was intending it as a dig about Rodney's last disastrous off-world mission. In what was beginning to be a familiar gesture, he pushed his tray over to Ronon. "I have to check in with the trained monkeys, but I'll meet you in the workout room at ten?"

What he hadn't considered, it occurred to Rodney as he walked to his lab, was that it had only been a couple of days since he'd had the crap beaten out of him by Wraith drones. He wasn't about to back down, though. Most of the aches and stiffness were gone, and if worst came to worst, he still had a stash of oxycodone that would get him through a couple of days until he felt human again.

He didn't end up needing the drugs; Teyla and Ronon were both surprisingly gentle with him. John barely even looked his direction the whole time, which was actually more painful than the few times he found himself flat on his back with Ronon's forearm across his throat or on his knees at Teyla's feet.

"You are improving, Doctor McKay," Teyla said as they gathered up their gear. "You should continue to practice with us."

Maybe it was just the endorphins, but Rodney was feeling amazingly good. Good enough to say, "I might just do that," and leave the room with a smile on his face.

~ * ~ * ~

John's eyes widened when he saw it was Rodney at the door, but Rodney didn't give him a chance to say anything. Instead, he pushed past him, waving the DVDs.

"Teyla and Ronon will be here any minute," Rodney said, dropping the box on John's desk and heading for the bed. "Ronon is supposed to be bringing popcorn, but I wouldn't be surprised if there's none left by the time they get here." He pulled the bed out from the wall, then looked up at John. "You want to give me a hand here?"

John just stared at him. "What do you think you're doing?" he finally asked, and Rodney rolled his eyes.

"Getting your room set up so we can all watch the movie." Sometimes he wondered if John was being intentionally obtuse. Granted, John had reason to question Rodney's actions, but he thought he'd been sufficiently obvious. When John still didn't move, Rodney sighed and started shifting the bed by himself, turning it ninety degrees and pushing it back against the wall so that it was parallel to John's desk.

Finally, John said, "Watching a movie requires the redecoration of my quarters?"

The words were right there, ready to spill out: _No, John, it's just this compulsion I have because I'm a homo._ Rodney clenched his jaw and kept his mouth shut; sarcasm and vitriol wouldn't do anything to improve the situation, and the minor satisfaction they would give couldn't even begin to balance out the damage. Luckily, he didn't have to come up with a polite answer, because Teyla and Ronon's arrival distracted John.

Surprisingly, the two giant bowls of popcorn Ronon carried were still full. Teyla's bag clinked as she set it down and began digging through it, pulling out bottles of Athosian homebrew. Rodney busied himself setting up John's laptop, loading the disc in and queuing it up to the movie itself. When he turned around to make his way back to their impromptu lounging couch, everyone else was already seated and he realized the flaw in his strategy. Ronon had left space between himself and John, who was looking uncomfortable almost to the point of panic. There really wasn't any way Rodney could sit elsewhere, though—not without drawing even more attention to the situation—so he started the movie and scooted onto the mattress until his back was against the wall, pressing up against Ronon in order to leave more room between himself and John. Ronon raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything, simply passing one of the bowls of popcorn over Rodney's lap to John.

Even though they weren't touching at all, Rodney could almost feel the tension radiating off John. Pretending obliviousness, as apparently everyone else was planning to do, Rodney took a handful of popcorn and the bottle Teyla offered him and settled back to watch. It took all of his self-control, but Rodney refrained from making three quarters of the snide comments he wanted to about the movie in deference to John's strange affection for it. Though honestly, _flux capacitor_?

Periodically, Teyla would ask a quiet question, and John would whisper back an answer—probably spreading popular misconceptions and scientific fallacies like Mary Mallon spread typhoid—but Ronon either had no questions or was content to watch for the entertainment value alone, even if there were things he didn't fully understand.

Rodney's hand brushed John's once, when they both reached into the popcorn bowl at the same time, but Rodney was prepared for that possibility and completely failed to react, never taking his eyes off the screen. Slowly, he felt John start to relax beside him, and by the time the movie was over John was almost back to normal. Rodney wasn't sure how much of that was due to an acceptance of the fact that Rodney wasn't going to make a scene or otherwise out John and how much was due to the fact that Teyla was curled up into John's other side and his arm was around her shoulders.

As the credits started to roll, Rodney was the first up off the make-shift couch. "There are two sequels," he said to Ronon and Teyla, "but I have no intention of watching them. We have that meeting with Elizabeth in the morning, and I have to finish up some things in the lab first."

Teyla bade him good night, and Ronon grunted and levered himself up off the bed, still holding the popcorn bowl he'd monopolized the whole evening. Rodney put the disc away in its case and left the box set on John's desk; he'd bought it for John anyway, and it would be churlish not to give it to him just because they'd broken up. Not that they'd ever really been _together_ , per se, but still.

"The first one is the best, anyway," John was saying as Rodney palmed the door control and let himself out.

~ * ~ * ~

Rodney had skipped breakfast, choosing instead to spend an extra hour setting up a simulation that would run for the rest of the day with only minimal supervision on Radek's part; even so, he ended up slipping into the meeting five minutes late and utterly failing to be stealthy about it.

When everyone—even John—turned to face him, he gave up. "Sorry," he said with a shrug, not even bothering to make up an excuse. "What did I miss?"

Elizabeth steepled her fingers, her expression the one Rodney tended to think of as her 'disapproving kindergarten teacher' look. "Colonel Sheppard was trying to convince me that now would be a good time for him to lead his team in exploring new areas of the city."

Rodney didn't even have to think about it. "That's a great idea, Elizabeth. It's a much more efficient utilization of the colonel's skill-set than doing paperwork all day, but it's still far less risky than going off-world while he's not fully recovered from his injuries. At the same time it provides us with useful data and maybe even additional living areas and workspace. When do we start?"

There was silence around the table, and all eyes were on him again—or possibly _still_ , he hadn't really been paying attention. "What? Don't tell me that was a surprise to anyone."

"Well," Elizabeth finally allowed, "I suppose if everyone's unanimous, I can approve the plan on a trial basis, as long as Carson is willing to sign off on it as well."

Across the table from him, Carson was nodding thoughtfully. "I don't see why not. The colonel is fit to walk about the city, so long as he doesn't overexert himself."

John's grin was blinding.

Rodney looked away, his chest tightening in a way it hadn't since they got back from Takkan. He couldn't remember why he'd ever thought anything involving John Sheppard would be easy.

It ended up being possibly the most boring week of Rodney's life. They found half a dozen labs, all empty except for a few spare control crystals that might not even work; three parks filled with dead grass and trees; five corridors of residential quarters that were only slightly nicer than their current quarters; and an enormous room with tiered seating that had probably been something akin to an amphitheater-cum-planetarium.

Still, it gave John something to do, and by the end of the week he was in a much better mood. He'd also stopped shooting nervous looks at Rodney like he thought Rodney was going to lunge at him and suck him off in public, which in turn made Rodney a little less tense and snappish with his staff, and the occasional urge to just turn and shout at John that no one had ever died from a little cocksucking and could he please just _get over it already_ faded.

~ * ~ * ~

When Rodney decided to go to the firing range in the middle of the night, the last person he expected to see there was John. He stepped through the doorway and saw the familiar figure, relaxed but alert, firing round after round into the paper target—perfect grouping, center mass—and he almost turned around and walked back out again, except that he could already see John's arm dropping and his body beginning to pivot as he caught Rodney's movement out of the corner of his eye.

"I just came to practice," Rodney said, gesturing at the sidearm in his thigh-holster. As statements went, it was far from the most brilliant one he'd ever made, but John didn't seem to notice.

Instead, he nodded his head at the target next to his. "Let's see what you can do."

"Oh yes," Rodney snapped, "that'll help. Pressure is the best way to improve my aim."

The corner of John's mouth twitched and Rodney could tell he was holding in a smile, which should have been irritating but was actually more encouraging than anything. Things were starting to feel like they were back to normal, and suddenly Rodney could breathe, really _breathe_ again.

"I'll make sure the Wraith get the 'no pressure' memo," John said, holstering his Beretta and crossing his arms. "Let's see what you can do, Rodney."

~ * ~ * ~

Caldwell's request came just as the team was about to begin another week of exploration around Atlantis and Rodney, for one, was relieved. Not that testing potential new gear was incredibly exciting, but it would get them out of the city, and John had been showing signs of cabin fever again.

They loaded the jumper and headed off to the mainland that afternoon, following Teyla's directions to a clearing about an hour's hike away from the Athosian settlement; there was a river close by, and space to land. It took them about an hour to pitch camp, three different two-man tents that the SGC wanted them to evaluate and four different sleeping bags, along with a handful of other survival equipment. It was a familiar routine, and they fell into it without words: Teyla and Ronon scavenged for firewood while John and Rodney pitched the tents, then hauled the five-gallon bags down to the river and filled them. Rodney made his obligatory " _Summa cum laude_ three times; how did I end up as a pack mule again?" comment and John did his obligatory eye-roll, and everything felt normal. By the time they got back to camp with the water, Teyla and Ronon had built a fire pit and Teyla was using her lighter to set the tinder alight.

"I don't suppose anyone remembered the marshmallows," Rodney said, setting the water container down in the lee of the jumper and heading inside to grab the MREs.

It was a running joke, one that was supposed to earn him another exasperated look or comment from John, so Rodney was surprised when John said, "In the green bin next to the spare ammo."

He didn't actually _believe_ John until he pulled the lid off the bin to find a bag of marshmallows, several Hershey bars, and a box of graham crackers. He sat down on the bench, staring blindly at the bin's contents; John had brought him s'more makings.

Maybe he wasn't in danger of being Tommy Jenkins after all.

Standing, he put the lid back and headed out to where the rest of the team were putting the finishing touches on their camp. "So, how are we going to toast them?" he asked.

John reached into his pack and pulled out a thin metal rod—was that an old-style telescoping pointer?—and Rodney stared at him. John grinned. "What can I say? I was a Boy Scout."

Rodney set down the bin, then went back for the MREs. When he returned with them, John pulled a red and black plastic cylinder from his pack and tossed it to Rodney. "Here. It's a water purifier. Instructions are rolled up inside."

The purifier turned out to be easy enough to operate, and fifteen minutes later Rodney was setting his watch alarm to let them know when the water was safe for drinking. Or _theoretically_ safe, because who knew whether a system invented on Earth would work on whatever microorganisms lived in the water in another galaxy.

He got back to the fire to find he was the last one done; Teyla and Ronon had dragged a fallen log over near the fire and were sitting on the ground, leaning against it, and John was lying flat on his back, staring up at the first faint sprinkling of stars in the twilit sky. It struck Rodney, not for the first time, that he felt more at home with these people than he ever had on Earth—they were more of a family to him than his own blood relatives were—and he turned away before John could see him smile and ask him why. Or worse, _not_ ask him why.

They prepped and ate the MREs in a comfortable silence, and Rodney was starting to really relax when Teyla asked, "So what does one do with these 'marshmallows'?"

"Oh, you're gonna love it," John said, digging in his pack for several of the telescoping pointers. Rodney set up the rest of the s'more makings while John demonstrated his idea of appropriate marshmallow toasting technique for Teyla and Ronon, catching the marshmallow on fire and blowing it out.

"That's disgusting," Rodney complained, but he was smiling as he handed over a pair of graham cracker squares already loaded with chocolate. To his other teammates, he said, "Try not to let them catch fire."

Teyla went next, carefully browning her marshmallow without letting the flames get too close, and when it was sufficiently gooey and starting to droop on its skewer, Rodney showed her how to sandwich it between the graham crackers and pull the pointer out. She took a bite and her eyes widened. "That is...very sweet," she said once she'd finished the bite, and John laughed.

"It's mostly a treat for kids," he explained. "It's part of the fun of camping out when you're young."

Ronon's first s'more disappeared in two quick bites, leaving a small smear of chocolate at the corner of his mouth that he swiped away with his thumb, and when Teyla noticed him eyeing the remains of hers sitting untouched on her knee, she nodded and handed it over. John ended up eating two, Rodney had three—which had been his limit since his early twenties—and he lost count of how many Ronon made and consumed, but he thought it was in the range of six. The mere idea made him vaguely queasy.

Once they'd finished with the Earth-food portion of the evening, John insisted they should tell ghost stories around the fire; Rodney thought John had gotten over that urge early on, after discovering that even the scariest of Hollywood horror movies was no match for the real lives of people who were raised with the threat of the Wraith. Apparently not, because with great seriousness he launched into a story that sounded like a cross between the first _Friday the 13th_ movie and _A Nightmare on Elm Street_. Unsurprisingly, it fell flat; Teyla was too polite to do anything but smile at John when he was done recounting it, but Ronon's disbelieving, "Is that it?" elicited an honest-to-God pout.

Taking their turns, Teyla and Ronon each told a traditional story of their people. Teyla's was a complex and romantic parable, and Rodney was sure there were at least three or four layers of metaphor subtly woven throughout it, though he was too close to sleep to be listening as carefully as he could have. Ronon's was full of honor and battles and noble sacrifice, and Rodney thought it would probably have made a good Klingon tale. When they all looked at him, Rodney begged off, claiming exhaustion.

John glanced at his watch and nodded. "It's late. We should probably hit the hay." Rodney was struggling to his feet and silently lamenting the lost flexibility of youth when John continued, "Rodney and I will take that one." He indicated the smallest tent with a jerk of his chin. "It's supposed to be a two-man and we're about average size, so I'd like to see if it lives up to the claim."

Rodney froze where he was standing. He stared at John, who seemed to be perfectly at ease. Taking a quick breath, Rodney started moving again, his mind spinning crazily as he headed toward the small tent, leaving John behind to take care of dousing the fire. He crawled into the tent and turned around to sit and remove his boots before he tracked too much grass and dirt inside; his body was on autopilot as his brain went over everything that had happened today, trying to analyze it all for nuances that he'd missed the first time around, but he kept coming up empty. There hadn't been any overt signs from John, no flirting to suggest this was a subtle invitation to have sex, and no hostility to suggest it was a passive-aggressive way to make Rodney miserable.

Tucking his boots in the corner of the tent's vestibule, he dug a glow stick out of his pack and activated it, hanging it from one of the zipper pulls to act as a nightlight. He rolled out one of the sleeping bags and unzipped it, then stripped out of his uniform pants, leaving him in tee-shirt and boxers and socks. It shouldn't matter; he shouldn't have any problem doing this. He'd shared a tent with John dozens of times before. Of course, that had been before he'd ever felt John's hand on his dick, before he'd ever sucked John off.

With a sigh, he scooted into the sleeping bag, but left it unzipped. It was still warm—would probably stay warm all night, as it was the planet's equivalent of summer—and he'd love to sleep uncovered, but that was just asking for trouble. He could hear John moving around outside, and Ronon (or maybe Teyla) in the next tent over. Taking a deep breath, he tried one of the stress-relieving meditation techniques that Heightmeyer was always nagging him about, but it didn't seem to help; he was still tense and his stomach was roiling. By the time John pushed aside the tent flap and crawled in, Rodney was almost ready to just demand to know what he was up to, but the hesitant look on John's face stopped him instantly.

He watched John's back, stiff and awkward as he removed his own boots and put them neatly next to Rodney's. When John turned around to deal with his sleeping bag, his expression was back to normal and Rodney wondered if he'd just imagined anything else. Rolling over onto his back, he stared up at the ceiling of the tent and tried to give John some semblance of privacy.

~ * ~ * ~

They were on the mainland for a total of four days and nights, and Rodney was incredibly glad he'd brought his laptop and its solar charger because there wasn't nearly enough new gear to keep him occupied for more than a few minutes a day, and while John and Ronon—and even Teyla, on occasion—seemed to be having fun taking hikes through the woods and playing at hunting down food for them to eat, Rodney was happiest in the middle of civilization. Camping was never his idea of a good time, and even less so when there was a perfectly good, technologically advanced city a quick jumper ride away.

After the first night, John had mixed up their sleeping arrangements so that everyone except Teyla took turns sharing a tent, but on their final night it was back to Rodney and John together—this time in the largest of the three tents. Rodney was on his side, facing the tent wall and nearly asleep when John finally finished whatever he was fiddling with outside and crawled in and zipped the mesh closed. Vaguely aware of the rustling sounds behind him, Rodney let himself drift, only to be pulled up short by the solidity of John's body behind his as John's arm wrapped around his waist and he felt a kiss pressed to the nape of his neck. The adrenaline spike left him completely awake, his breathing harsh and his heart pounding.

He rolled over to face John, who shifted back only far enough to let him move freely and didn't meet his eyes; he was beginning to understand how a yo-yo felt. Still, he could feel the apology in the tentative touch of John's hand on his hip, and he gave his absolution in kisses trailed along John's jaw.

  
**Sapping – To cause a breach in the wall of a fortification by undermining it.**   
_Sapping is one of the best ways to breach a wall, though it's a slow process. The attacking force tunnels beneath the length of the defenders' walls, undermining their foundations and causing them to collapse._   


The soft knock on his door the night they returned from the mainland wasn't surprising, but it wasn't necessarily expected, either. Rodney hadn't been sure if they would just pick up where they left off or if there was still some ground to be regained. Apparently it was the former, because when Rodney opened the door, John just smiled at him and said, "Hey," and Rodney stepped back to let him in.

~ * ~ * ~

Rodney groaned as he caught sight of the DVD case. He suspected that John picked movies based on how much he thought Rodney would hate them, but he wasn't about to let on that he knew.

"Something wrong, McKay?" John asked, and his teasing tone was almost normal.

Rolling his eyes, more because he knew it was expected than out of true irritation, Rodney said, "I think there _may_ be a worse movie out there, Colonel, but possibly not one that hasn't already been mercilessly ridiculed by a janitor and two robots for the enjoyment of the masses."

John's grin told Rodney everything he needed to know. "It's not that bad. Besides, my folks went to high school with the guy who runs the Rekall memory studio."

Teyla looked at the front of the DVD case curiously. "Is this a true story, then?"

"Documentary," Ronon interjected, and Rodney forgot what he was going to say. He didn't think Ronon was stupid, not really, but he'd never realized Ronon was actually making any attempt to learn about Earth culture.

John laughed. "No, not a documentary. I should've said that they knew the actor who plays the role."

Rodney sat down at one end of the bed, leaving plenty of room so that John could sit at the other end and let Ronon and Teyla have the space between them. John slid the DVD into the laptop and hit a few keys, then dropped down right next to Rodney, leaving less than an inch of space between their shoulders. He didn't look like he'd even noticed their proximity, but Rodney knew from experience that he was excruciatingly aware of things like that.

He tried not to read too much into it, settling back against the wall and waiting for the movie to start. Still, it was difficult to believe that it was accidental. John's physical interaction with other people was _never_ accidental; he touched rarely, and then only because he wanted to. The credits started, but Rodney barely noticed, still immersed in his own thoughts. He suspected that this was leading up to something, but he wasn't sure if it was forward movement or just a reassuring confirmation of the status of their...thing-that-Rodney-hesitated-to-call-a-relationship.

John leaned in close and said quietly, "You know, I'm not nearly as impressed with Sharon Stone's ass-kicking skills now that I've seen Teyla in action."

Rodney's eyes closed briefly at the brush of hot, damp air against his ear. He hadn't even been paying attention to the movie; he'd been too distracted by John's proximity, by the warmth that radiated off of him and the knowledge that if either of them shifted half an inch they'd be touching. The reality of it was no less distracting than the possibility had been, and for a second—with John's shoulder pressing solidly against his own and John's voice low and intimate in his ear—Rodney considered simply turning his head and kissing him.

He was under no illusions: it would be disastrous to actually do it. That didn't stop the thought or the desire.

Taking a deep breath, he whispered back, "I could've gone my entire life without seeing that much of Arnold Schwarzenegger."

John laughed and sat back, his bicep still pressed up against Rodney's. Slowly Rodney relaxed into the touch and started actually watching the movie. That was probably a mistake, because every scene brought a new inaccuracy, each more annoying than the last. He held his tongue for as long as he could, but finally it got to be too much.

"Instantaneous communication between Mars and Earth?" he burst out, irritated. "The transmission lag would be a minimum of four minutes! You'd think the writers could at least do some rudimentary research."

"Maybe," John said, looking sideways at him and sounding amused, "they're using a wormhole to transmit the video signal."

Rodney didn't even dignify that with an answer, and John passed the bowl of popcorn over with a grin.

He'd forgotten, in the sixteen years since he'd seen the movie in a tiny chain theater in Evanston on that disastrous first date with Dan, just how awful it was. The special effects hadn't stood the test of time, and the story was as hackneyed as it was poorly researched. The company was much better this time around, though. He tried to imagine the reaction of his twenty-one-year-old self to being told that some day he'd be on an alien world, watching that same movie with two natives of another galaxy and a male Air Force officer he was secretly sleeping with. Disbelief, definitely. Possibly a phone call to the nearest in-patient psychiatric treatment center.

And yet here he was, the situation comfortably familiar.

"McKay." Ronon was holding a bottle of Athosian beer, offering it to Rodney over John's head.

Grabbing the chilled bottle, Rodney ignored John's affronted "Hey! Don't I get one?" and took a long swallow. "No," he said. "You _like_ this movie, remember? I'm the one who needs something to dull the pain." Ronon's laughter was a quiet rumble and John nudged his elbow further and further into Rodney's side until Rodney finally relented and passed the beer over. "One of these days," he said, "I'm going to pick something with real entertainment value for us to watch."

John handed the bottle back, significantly less full than it had been when he'd taken it. "Somehow I don't think Teyla would appreciate a 'Girls Gone Wild' marathon," he said, and Rodney nearly choked on his mouthful of beer. John smirked and turned his attention back to the movie.

Rodney swallowed carefully and then sat the now-empty bottle on the floor beside the bed. Onscreen, Schwarzenegger was running from the bad guys while wearing a particularly unflattering dress and dodging gunfire. "Of course, because the aesthetic appeal of one's construction materials is the most important consideration when one is building a spaceport on a planet without a breathable atmosphere," Rodney muttered, watching as a stray bullet cracked the glass and the apparently endless supply of oxygen vented out into the near-vacuum.

Next to him John shifted slightly and he was suddenly acutely conscious of everywhere they were touching: shoulder and bicep, and now thigh and knee as well. He glanced over out of the corner of his eye; John looked completely relaxed and engrossed in what they were watching. Still, Rodney thought he could feel a tension humming through him like an electrical current, sparking wherever their bodies came in contact. He wasn't sure what to make of the fact that John was obviously trying hard to appear casual and, more to the point, _comfortable_ with their proximity. It suggested a willingness—a degree of effort—that Rodney hadn't expected from him, at least not so soon after freaking out.

It also suggested that maybe the evening would end up more rewarding, and possibly involving more experimentation, than Rodney had originally thought.

Caught up in weighing the pros and cons of various things he could do to John's body, it took him a second to respond to the elbow to his ribs that accompanied John's hissed, "Help me out here." Teyla and Ronon were looking expectantly at him.

"Um?" It wasn't the most brilliant response, but it was all he could come up with; he hadn't been paying any attention to his surroundings and had no clue what John was asking.

John shook his head, looking frustrated. "Help me explain prostitution to Teyla and Ronon." He raised his eyebrows and Rodney got the unspoken, 'in a way that doesn't make us sound like disgusting perverts.'

 _Why don't you explain it,_ he thought. _It was your choice of movie, after all._ But he was all too aware that there was a time and a place to let John swing in the wind, and before an evening of potentially mind-blowing sex was _not_ it. "Prostitution is...bartering physical intimacy for money or goods."

"Ah," Teyla said. "I have heard of the practice, though most cultures I have traded with have not had the time for that kind of leisure pursuit." Her words stopped Rodney short for a second, as he processed the idea of a culture in which prostitution resulted from something other than desperation. "Is the painting of their faces symbolic in some way?"

Rodney looked pointedly at John, who took a deep breath and said, "It's kind of complicated. I think you should probably ask Elizabeth about that. Make-up is a girl thing on Earth; Rodney and I don't know much about it." Rodney didn't contradict him, though he was willing to bet that the 80s hadn't left John completely inexperienced when it came to eyeliner. There were a few incriminating photos floating around from his own teenage years that he'd rather never saw the light of day again.

Ronon frowned. "So only women are courtesans on Earth?"

John chose that moment to scoot off the bed and stop the DVD, ostensibly so they didn't miss any more of the plot but Rodney was pretty sure it was really an avoidance tactic. Where was a life-threatening emergency when you needed one? "Like the colonel said, it's complicated. First of all, movies are hardly an accurate portrayal of any aspect of our culture. Secondly, prostitution is illegal in many countries on Earth, but despite that it's a profession practiced by both men and women. You just don't see much about the men in movies because—" He cut himself off. This was not the time to get into a discussion about alternative sexualities and the difference between male prostitutes and gigolos. "—well, because it's complicated."

Teyla and Ronon seemed willing to accept the explanation, though Rodney suspected this wouldn't be the end of the discussion. John backed the movie up a couple of minutes and started it again, settling himself just as close to Rodney as he'd been before the interruption.

Rodney leaned over and whispered, "You owe me." John's eyes closed briefly and Rodney could feel the shiver that ran through him.

Promising.

He leaned across John and Teyla and snagged the nearly empty popcorn bowl from Ronon, who gave him a low-level glare but let him take it. Settling back with John's warmth pressing firmly against him he was in a good enough mood to mostly ignore the stupidity of the filmmakers, or at least to keep the majority of his criticism to himself.

There were a few things, though, that just couldn't be ignored. "I mean, I haven't studied medical voodoo or anything, but even I know that when you're unprotected on the surface of a planet with a thin carbon-dioxide atmosphere and three-quarters of the surface pressure of Earth, you don't spend five minutes flailing around with your face deforming. You hold your breath for as long as you can, and then you die of asphyxiation. And if the planet's atmosphere should miraculously be completely oxygenated while you're holding your breath—let's not even go into how many laws of physics _that_ breaks, shall we?—you'd be bleeding out of your eyes and nose and probably your ears, and the sheer quantity of broken capillaries across your skin would make you look like my Uncle Gordon, who was a habitual drunk."

John snorted and patted him on the knee. "Relax, Rodney," he said. "It's only a movie. The laws of physics are intact." He moved his hand away, but the lingering warmth and the remembered touch had Rodney positioning the popcorn bowl very carefully over the front of his pants to camouflage the beginnings of an erection.

As soon as the end credits began, John stood up and hit a key on his laptop and then stretched, the movement making his shirt ride up and revealing a strip of skin on his right side, the bright pink of scar tissue vivid against his fading tan. Rodney looked away. "Thanks for coming, guys," John said.

"My turn to help move the furniture back?" Rodney asked casually, gathering up the discarded beer bottles and depositing them into the recycling bin in the corner.

John nodded. "Since it was your idea redecorate whenever we get together for a movie, I'd say it's always your turn."

After brief goodbyes, Teyla and Ronon disappeared into the corridor. As soon as the doors slid shut and they were alone, Rodney turned to find John still facing his laptop, his stance awkward and tense. Stepping forward, Rodney slid his arms around John's waist and rested his chin on John's shoulder. They stood, silent and unmoving for a minute, and then he felt John take a deep breath. "So. I owe you, huh?"

Rodney let go slowly, stepped back. "Only if you want," he said, because there was pushing John to broaden his horizons and then there was coercion. It was a line he wasn't going to step over.

But when John turned around his eyes were dark and his cheeks flushed, and Rodney wondered who was going to be pushing whom tonight. John licked his lips. "What do _you_ want?"

It was a dangerous question; there was so much Rodney wanted when it came to John, so much that he had to push aside and hope they'd get to eventually. There was one thing, though. One thing that Rodney had been fantasizing about since the night he'd watched John jerk off, and he thought maybe it wouldn't be asking too much, wouldn't be going too far.

"Do you have lube?" he asked, watching the expected flash of uncertainty cross John's face. "I want my fingers in you while I suck you off."

For a second he thought he'd miscalculated because John was suddenly _right there_ , in his face, and then John's hands were on him—tugging his shirt up, fumbling with his belt—and he let out the breath he'd been holding and pulled his shirt off over his head. He could feel John's hands shaking as they unfastened and shoved his pants down, and then John started on his own clothes. In under a minute Rodney had John on his back on the bed, dick hard and leaking precome, a bottle of lotion in one hand and the other reaching for him.

He let himself be reeled in, stretching out next to John and stroking slowly, gently over fevered skin in counterpoint to John's insistent touches, a little surprised by the degree of urgency there. When he sucked one pebbled nipple into his mouth, circling it with his tongue and biting gently, John arched up against him, erection pressing slickly against his side.

"Jesus, McKay," John panted, his hands clenching against Rodney's back. "Who knew you were such a cocktease. Just do it!"

Rodney fought back a smug grin and took his time, each touch deliberate, lingering, and calculated to drive John crazy.

~ * ~ * ~

It only worked the first time. The next night when Rodney tried to go slow, tried to push John to the point of begging again, John used a trick he'd probably picked up from Ronon and flipped them both over so that he was pinning Rodney to the bed. Rodney opened his mouth to protest, but couldn't find any words as John's mouth skated across his skin, hot and wet, leaving trails of tingling sensation from neck to shoulder to nipple.

He didn't fight it, just let John demonstrate that payback was a bitch.

And when John's mouth finally moved along his hipbone, gently nipping and sucking on the tender skin there, the smoothness of his freshly shaved cheek like silk where it brushed against Rodney's dick, Rodney clenched his hands in the sheets and groaned. John didn't look up, his eyes closed as he traced a slick line with his tongue from Rodney's hip almost to the base of his dick.

Hot, damp breath ghosted over the head and Rodney shuddered, tried to speak, but his mouth was dry. He swallowed and took a breath. "You—fuck, John—you don't have to," he said, and tried to mean it. It wasn't easy; every inch of his body was sensitized, was aching for John's touch, and he didn't think he'd ever wanted anything like he wanted John's mouth.

"I know." The words were soft, so low that Rodney almost missed them, though he felt the brush of John's exhalation against his skin, and then John's tongue swiped lightly across the sensitive head of his dick and he arched up into the touch, unable to stop himself.

John seemed to have been ready for that, because he pulled back easily and slid his hands up Rodney's thighs to rest on his hips, pressing him into the mattress and holding him down. Leaning forward again he licked a stripe up Rodney's shaft, the movement no longer tentative, and it was like a floodgate had opened. Rodney let go, let his body respond, the words tumbling past his lips without benefit of his internal censor, and he knew he sounded breathless and needy but he didn't care. "Please, yes...God...don't stop...so good, John, yes."

Too close to the edge, he closed his eyes and tried not to think about how John looked kneeling between his thighs. The grip on his hips relaxed a little, giving him more leeway, and then one hand disappeared entirely as John sucked the head of Rodney's dick into his mouth, grazing it lightly with his teeth. John nudged Rodney's legs further apart, hand curling around the length of Rodney's shaft and stroking with the perfect pressure. He sucked, gently at first and then less tentatively in apparent response to Rodney's continued stream of desperate pleas, and his hand slipped down to cup Rodney's balls.

In the darkness behind his closed eyelids, Rodney tried not to imagine how John must look, his mouth stretched around the head of Rodney's dick and his expression some combination of concentration and arousal. Teeth grazed the sensitive head as John pulled back, leaving Rodney gasping and shuddering at the overwhelming sensations. John hummed—a soft, pleased sound—and then his tongue was tracing down the length of Rodney's dick and back.

Spit-slick fingers teased at Rodney's hole, circling in the same rhythm as John's tongue around the head of his dick, the combination sending sparks arcing along his nerves. Clenching his jaw, he held in the words that wanted to spill out now, trapping the _come on_ and _fuck me_ and _want you so much_ behind his teeth because he wasn't sure he could stop there if he put voice to those kinds of thoughts right now. Even without the encouragement, though, John's touch grew firmer, the circles spiraling inward until Rodney felt a fingertip press in, felt it _finally_ slip inside, and he just had time for a heartfelt "fuck!" before he was coming, before he was clenching around John's finger and coming _hard_.

When he opened his eyes, he found John watching him, rapt.

~ * ~ * ~

Rodney recognized the blowjob as a breakthrough, even if afterward their sex life mostly settled back into the comfortable routine of hand jobs and frottage. He found that he was oddly content with the arrangement: John showed up every evening, they talked about their respective days, and then they shared mind-blowing orgasms.

If they'd been any other couple, it would've been downright domestic.

  
**Trickery – To gain access to a fortification by means of a ruse or treason.**   
_Assistance from within the fortification can easily turn the tide of a siege. It takes but a single defender willing to open the gates and allow the attacking force inside the walls._   


"Are you sure you're up for a mission?"

John threw him an exasperated look and said, "It's a friendly visit to our allies. I don't have to be in peak physical condition to have a conversation, Rodney. Besides, Carson cleared me for duty."

Rodney knew better than to push the issue. "It's not like it isn't perfectly reasonable of me to be concerned, Colonel." He re-checked his gear for the third time before looking up at the newly opened wormhole. "If things go wrong, I expect you to hold off Cowen's men long enough for me to escape, and you can't do that if you're not at your best."

As he stepped forward, he felt John's hand on his shoulder. There was a brief, firm squeeze and then it was gone again. "It'll be fine."

~ * ~ * ~

The terminal cases were sent back to the Genii homeworld first, along with medications to make sure their final days were spent in some degree of comfort, surrounded by their friends and families. Those Carson could treat were to be kept in Atlantis, in a make-shift extension of the infirmary, until they were well enough to return home for the remainder of their convalescence.

Rodney couldn't help glancing over at the impromptu radiation-sickness ward, at the eight beds and their pale, weak occupants. Part of him couldn't believe that the Genii had proceeded with their nuclear program despite his warnings, but realistically he knew there was no limit to human stupidity and desperate people could be even more stupid than average.

"Rodney?" Carson's exasperated voice drew his attention back into the main area of the infirmary.

"What?" he said, knowing he sounded edgy and defensive.

Carson looked at him with an all-too-familiar expression; it was the look of a man determined to be patient even if it killed him. "I was just asking if you were feeling all right. No lingering effects from the Genii gas?"

"Aren't you supposed to be telling me that?" Over Carson's shoulder, Rodney could see John roll his eyes. He crossed his arms and continued, "You took every imaginable biological sample. Throw some chicken bones, read some goat entrails or whatever it is you do."

Before Carson could reply, John interrupted, "He sounds fine to me, Doc. Why don't you let us know if there's a problem with the test results." To Rodney, he said, "C'mon," jerking his head toward the door.

Rodney quashed the urge to tell him not to bother, that the overwhelming stench of old sweat and vomit that lingered even after the ailing Genii had been cleaned up and given hospital gowns was not an aphrodisiac. Instead, he followed John out of the infirmary and along the corridor toward his room. He knew he was being uncharacteristically silent, but he couldn't think of a single casual thing to say and he was almost afraid to open his mouth in case he couldn't control the angry torrent of words that wanted to pour out.

John followed him inside and he turned, waiting for the doors to close before saying, "You know, I'm really not in the mood—"

"Rodney?" John cut him off quietly, hands going to rest on his shoulders. "Shut up." Turning him around gently, John started to rub his neck, and that small gesture was somehow a catalyst. He groaned at the way the knotted muscles responded to John's touch.

"It's so stupid," he said, as much to the world in general as to John. "So incredibly, unbelievably stupid. And you'd think I'd be used to stupid by now, seeing as I'm constantly surrounded by it, but you'd be wrong. Somehow it still shocks and annoys me. Every. Single. Time." John made a soft humming sound that Rodney took to mean 'go on,' thumbs pressing into the knots on either side of Rodney's spine where it met his neck. "Those people didn't have to die, at least not from radiation. I warned them that their shielding was woefully inadequate, but did they listen to me? Of course not. 'It's just McKay—'" Fuck. He cut himself off, not willing to go there, even with John. "You know what? Never mind. Just keep doing that, okay?"

Rodney could almost hear the smile as John said, "Be easier if you'd lie down." The hands slid down his back, slipping under the hem of his shirt and pushing it up until he had to raise his arms and help John tug it off over his head.

They sat side by side on the edge of Rodney's bed, unlacing their boots, and once again Rodney was hit by the weird domesticity of the situation. He wasn't exactly sure when they'd gotten to this point, but he wasn't going to complain.

Shoving his boots under the bed, he tossed his socks into the laundry pile in the corner. John was down to his boxers already, leaning back on the bed, propped up on his elbows and watching Rodney, who followed his lead only slightly self-consciously, stripping off his pants and sending them to join his socks. He stretched out on the bed and tried to relax, feeling a warm, comfortable weight settle across his lower back as John straddled him and started working out the tension in his shoulders.

At some point he must have fallen asleep, because when he woke and blinked blearily at the clock it was two in the morning and John was pressed up against him, his breathing quiet and measured in the darkness.

When he woke again at six, John was gone.

~ * ~ * ~

Rodney swore at the Ancient life climate control system and just barely refrained from hurling the nearest lightweight object—an empty coffee mug—across the room.

"Easy there, tiger." Behind him, John sounded far more easy-going than anyone seventy-two hours into a merciless heat wave had a right to be. "I brought you guys something cool to drink." He set a tray down on the workbench between Rodney and Radek. At Rodney's raised eyebrow, he continued, "Turns out Athosian tea is pretty good over ice. Not quite coffee, but not hot, either, and I know you hate iced coffee, Rodney."

Radek reached for one of the mugs without hesitation. "Thank you, Colonel. That was very thoughtful of you."

"I figure it's a public service. Keep you guys going so you can solve the problem and then everyone's life gets better." John clapped Rodney on the shoulder and Rodney resisted the urge to lean into the touch, knowing it was probably the only one they'd share until the climate control was fixed and the ambient temperature in Atlantis's corridors dropped below forty degrees celsius. "Call me if there's anything my men or I can do to help."

"Yes, thank you, Colonel," Rodney said. "If we need someone to dig a latrine in the control room or take the mainframe by force we'll be sure to let you know."

John just grinned. "We're also good for lugging around heavy equipment," he said on his way out the door.

~ * ~ * ~

It was too hot to move, too hot to _think_. Almost too hot for sex.

They took it slow, their sweat-slicked bodies sliding together in an easy rhythm that meant neither of them would come for hours. Rodney sucked gently on a patch of skin over John's collarbone—salty and hot and perfect—and John ground down harder against him, making his breath hitch.

Later, sated and half asleep as they lay shoulder to shoulder on the narrow bed, Rodney said, "Who designs a city-wide climate control system that can't compensate for the highest temperatures that occur on the planet?"

"Someone who can take off in their flying city and go to a cooler planet?"

Rodney shifted just enough that he could stroke John's thigh with the back of one finger. "Smart alec."

~ * ~ * ~

It was ten days into the heat wave, and fraying tempers had driven everyone to the solitude of their own quarters; it was easier not to act on homicidal urges when there was no one around for you to murder. A storm had been threatening for nearly a week, clouds gathering dark and oppressive but never quite spilling. Rodney had finally given in to temptation and was standing naked at his balcony railing, hoping the slowly building breeze would cool him off. He wasn't really surprised when John's arms slid around his waist and John's warm skin pressed up against his back.

"Miss me?" John said in his ear, and Rodney heard the echoes of their time together on another balcony. It seemed like an entire lifetime ago now. He turned in John's arms—because he could, because John would let him look and touch and taste now—and John surprised him by catching his mouth in a kiss.

Their _first_ kiss.

It was a simple gesture, but somehow it seemed heavy with meaning. Rodney went with it, kissing John back with everything he had, taking advantage of the opportunity to just stand there, holding John in his arms and sharing this casual intimacy. Above them there was a sudden clap of thunder that startled them apart, and a fat raindrop splashed at Rodney's feet. It was quickly followed by a dozen more and then another few dozen and then a deluge that left them soaked and laughing, faces upturned into the rain.


End file.
